No More
by Miss Daisy Dukes
Summary: This is just a short one shot about Sherlock and John's end during a case. Created after a prompt I found on tumblr. Enjoy xx (UPDATE: fixed set-up problem)


Recognised characters belong to their beloved creators and BBC.

I've realised that I have a thing for killing off characters, so why not Sherlock and John.

UPDATE: Fixed the problem with doohickeys and whatsits turning up

Enjoy xx

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><p>John didn't know it had happened. There was no indicator for why it started, or how, or even where.<p>

He knew he was stuck. The steel door to the safe was shut and bolted; John trapped effectively.

The fire had already taken up the majority of the room, sweeping across the floor from the door, licking up the sides of desks, cabinets and shelves. The papers scattered around were instantly ignited the moment the flames touched them.

John stumbled back, keeping a hand to the wall as he moved further into the room. He was hoping that there was an unknown, secret back exit.

_A secret exit from a safe_, he thought sarcastically. _I can hear Sherlock now. I'm such an idiot. _

The smoke that had been apparent before was thickening. John pulled his jumper over his nose and mouth, eyes watering from the stinging heat.

He coughed as he fell into a wall. A thick, iron wall.

John smacked his hand against it, hoping that the other side would hear it.

"**Sherlock!**" John yelled, hitting the metal once again.

John could imagine it. Sherlock in the other safe beside him, perhaps his room was on fire as well. He'd be standing by a wall, in a corner, a handkerchief over his nose and mouth. His eyes would be closed and he would thinking, _planning _a way out.

He would achieve a thought to save him. Or he would resign himself to his fate and instead try and figure out the case with his remaining few minutes.

John continued to hit the wall throughout his thoughts, his mind's eyes traced on Sherlock in the room beside him.

Behind him the flames crept ever closer, the smoke grew ever thicker. John grew weaker.

He coughed again.

"Sherlock?! Can you hear me?!" He shouted out, his voice now hoarse from the smoke. His thoughts went back to his army days, when his makeshift hospital in Afghanistan caught fire. _Stay low. _

John slid down the wall, breathing in whatever thin air was left near the ground.

"Sherlock!" he yelled. He hit the wall, this time in a distinct pattern. Morse code.

John breathed heavily, his hand lying against the hot metal of the safe wall.

**J O H N**

John blinked at the answering message. Sherlock was there. Sherlock was _there_.

He raised his knuckles, tears leaking from the sides of his eyes from the smoke.

It wasn't a moment before Sherlock answered.

** W**

John hit his forehead lightly against the wall, hissing at the heat. Sherlock was stuck in the fire. He was stuck in the fire. This was it. They were both going to die.

John couldn't help the terrible sob that burst from his throat. It was harsh and it burned, but it was an emotion that couldn't be helped. They were going to die.

No more cases to solve. No more tea from Mrs Hudson. No more Sherlock.

John's head thrummed, his ears felt stuffy and his eyes watered continuously amidst the fire. He fell back against the ground, weakly turning himself onto his stomach before reaching out a hand to the wall. His finger-tips grazed the edging and his one thought in his dying mind was _Sherlock_.

John closed his eyes and listened to the crackling of the fire around him.

**I **

**Y O U **

John recognised the letters. He pushed himself up against the wall to reciprocate the message.

On the other side, Sherlock leaned his back against the wall, watching the fire destroy the valuable items around him. It was obvious to him now. The devoted daughter to the dead father had cleverly schemed everything, her alibis were perfect and so were her hired hit men. In the safe Sherlock was in she'd left all her paperwork, on purpose, for him to find out. There were times when Sherlock would be proud, but he wasn't. He was sure she would be arrested, but this was all a set-up to kill the infamous detective and his doctor. Sebestyen Moran was definitely the perfect rival to Sherlock, she was everything that Moriarty was an more. She was a _challenge_. But that did not matter anymore, she captured Sherlock and John.

Now here they were, dying.

John's side was silent after Sherlock's last message and he felt a terrible pain in his chest, not from the smoke inhalation in his lungs.

"I'm sorry John," Sherlock mumbled, hitting his head back against the wall.

Sherlock paused, his senses trained on John's knocking.

**Y O U **

Sherlock breathed in a sharp intake of Smokey air, fighting the urge to cough and trying in vain to focus on John.

**T O O **

**S H E R**

The wall fell silent.

Sherlock clenched his hands and grit his teeth, his back sliding against the burning wall as he fell sideways from his position. His head hit the ground with a resounding smack.

No more cases to solve. No more tea from Mrs Hudson. No more John.

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><p>Well there you go.<p>

No more Sherlock, no more John.

Please don't forget to review, like, favourite etc if you please.

And if you have any one shot prompts or ideas, don't hesitate to throw them my way. Cheers!


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